


A Pattern in Your Home

by rujakcuka



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, F/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:51:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rujakcuka/pseuds/rujakcuka
Summary: There is a thing that makes him sentimental from the girl’s beauty.





	A Pattern in Your Home

There is a thing that makes him sentimental from the girl’s beauty.

Kazui is his child, but Ichigo cannot help himself not to stare at Ichika a few seconds longer. He should have approached them now instead because she’s beginning to tease the boy.

Both the children are different in gender, yet their looks are after their mothers.

Ichika’s hair is a blood crown on her hair, radiant crimson and waving in a ponytail. Her facial expression is annoying because of her confidence and she doesn’t like to mind her word choice and her smirk and her pair of eyes looks like—

His hands twitch.

* * *

One time when Ichika and Kazui are chatting in the living room, she catches Ichigo peeking at them behind the newspaper and his cup of coffee.

Usually when someone stares at her, she’d say something such as _what the hell are you looking at?!_ or tease them back. But this is Ichigo, a father of her friend outside the Soul Society and a friend of her parents.

She politely smiles and nods.

Ichigo smiles back, softer than hers, and apologizes with a stupid reason: “Sorry, both of you look cute.”

When Ichika doesn’t see anymore, Ichigo shifts his gaze, feeling guilty of his nearly exploded feeling, which he’s been trying to bury since a long time ago. The feeling doesn’t even fade away.

His throat feels suffocated.

* * *

“Your daughter is beautiful.”

Rukia eyes him in horror, thinking that maybe Ichigo has been possessed by some random evil spirit. Unable to hold herself, she puts her hand on his forehead, another on her own.

“I’m not sick, you dumbass.” Ichigo pushes her hand away, stern but slow, not even thinking of hurting her. His pair of hazel eyes is directed at Ichika, who’s been sitting with his child again.

Although it is just him pushing her hand away, they touch. It causes him to feel some things that he firstly thought he forgot. He tries to put his mind at ease.

His wife is in the kitchen.

“Of course, I’m her mother, after all!” Rukia snorts. Her jet-black hair looks like a waving silk.

Ichigo wants to concede with what she’s said, wants to call her beautiful all the time, wants to kiss her eyelids which always hide those amethyst eyes, wants to touch her here and there, wants—wants—wants—he wants everything.

A voice in the back of his mind tells him it’s all in the past.

So Ichigo holds his breath. “Don’t be cocky. It’s because of Renji,” he scoffs, a moment before Rukia tries to kick him in the face.

She’s still not feminine. She doesn’t change. Motherhood makes her prettier, though.

Renji is so fortunate as a soul and, oh, poor Ichigo, with all the responsibilities to continue his life as an ordinary human being and get married and have children and and and—

Truthfully there isn’t any difference between the two men, but all these restrictions boil him in anger. It makes his heart wants to jump out from the ribcage.

* * *

They’ve been chatting on the dining table, waiting for Orihime to return from the supermarket, when Ichigo suddenly asks, “What if one day they fall in love with each other?” A finger is pointed towards Kazui and Ichika, who have been sitting on the sofa and watching some cartoons on the television.

Rukia doesn’t even want to look at him. Her eyes are gleaming but it’s not from the sunshine passing through the window.

“Don’t be stupid,” she replies, trying to find a logical reason to get through Ichigo’s head; it’s the same cycle whenever he becomes like this. “They’re kids.”

“That’s why I said _one day_.”

“Ichigo,” Rukia hisses his name. Her gaze is piercing and her expression shows uneasiness. “Don’t even try.”

“Yeah, yeah,” and Ichigo repeats Rukia’s statement everytime he begins to reminisce failed things over his—or their—past achievements: “Different worlds. I’m a living person. You’re dead.”

When Rukia doesn’t say anything in return, Ichigo adds, “Sometimes I don’t even feel alive, you know?”


End file.
